


Just One Yesterday

by orphan_account



Category: Fall Out Boy, The Youngblood Chronicles (Music Video)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Youngblood Chronicles, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Injury, Brainwashing, Gen, I can't hope to get them all, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Torture, Mental Instability, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, There are so many triggers for the YBC, You wouldn't think that a bandom would have so much angst but fall out boy proves you wrong, no one is happy - happiness is a myth, well there's not much comfort but there's a lot of hurt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-28 21:18:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3870103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything was so calm before it all went to hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just One Yesterday

**Author's Note:**

> First FOB fic and of course it's for the YBC. Normally I'm very uncomfortable with the idea of Real Person Fic, but the fact that it's clearly an AU makes it feel less...wrong? Even so, no shipping.  
> There's probably a bit of canon divergence.  
> Basically this is what happens when you take a music video and try to make a comprehensive story out of it.

It was so calm before it all went to hell.  


The sleep wasn't peaceful, it was restless. Full of flashing images of pain and torment. But it was sleep. They weren't knocked out, they weren't drugged up. It was sleep.  


It was calm.  


The three band members, practically brothers, were huddled in the back of a rusted truck. The remaining member was in the front with their savior.  


To think about what happened.  


The operation table...  


The feast...  


The... machine...  


Patrick winced. He went to rub his eyes before he remembered that his hand was missing. He looked down at the hook with disdain.  
-  


_A bloodcurdling scream filled the stale air of the warehouse.  
_

_"MY HAND. MY FUCKING HAND."  
_

_Blood was everywhere. It was all he could see. Red. Nothing but red.  
_

_"Aww, stop being such a baby. It's just a hand, it's not like you needed it anyways. You are just a singer after all."  
_

_Red. All he saw was red. His hand was on the floor, the handcuff still attached.  
_

_"I wonder how well he'll be able to sing after all this screaming."  
_

_Red. Screaming. Was all of that his?  
_

_"Would it make you feel better if we replaced it?"  
_

_His mouth was gagged but he still screamed. He screamed and screamed. And all he saw was red._  
-  


Patrick's breath caught in his throat and he slammed his head against the window to drive the thought out. His breathing was harsh and his head pounded.  


"Don't remember it." He mumbled. "Don't remember it."  


He stared at the flashing scenery. It was still bright outside; the sky was blue, the clouds were white and fluffy.  


He wanted to scream.  


Using his good hand, he rubbed his face vigorously. He wanted to sleep so badly, but he was afraid too.  


His own blood was all over his hands - hand - and clothes; he couldn't risk sleeping and not waking up.  


Patrick looked at the driver. She seemed way too pretty, too pristine, to be driving such an old truck down a beaten up road.  


But Patrick didn't comment or question it, he wasn't like that. The woman could drive what she wants and he was just grateful that she happened to be around.  


And that she was willing to pick up a man covered in blood and dirt with a hook for a hand.  


The woman in question glanced at Patrick and caught his gaze.  


"Are you okay?" She asked.  


Patrick laughed a slightly bitter laugh. "As okay as I can be at this point." His throat was sore, voice hoarse.  


"We'll be reaching a hospital soon, so just hang in there." She smiled and turned her eyes back to the road.  


Patrick nodded and leant into his seat. How would they explain everything to the ER?  


'Oh so we got kidnapped by this cult, I was vivisected, they cut my hand off, we were all psychologically and physically tortured, and beat up by demonic children for good measure. Also they might've tried to brainwash me? We need serious medical attention please.'  


Patrick snorted a bit. That'll be a bridge to burn later.  


He turned around to look out the back window.  


His band mates, friends - _brothers_ \- were still sleeping. They weren't as injured as he was, but they were all still in bad shape. He smiled, grateful that they could sleep.  


Then his smile faltered. "I better wake them up, if we're gonna get there soon."  


"Go ahead."  


Patrick rolled down the window and stuck out his head. "Guys!"  


The pile in the back shifted slightly.  


Patrick sighed and pulled himself out of the window more. He reached out his arm and nudged the closest person, who happened to be Joe.  


The reaction was almost instantaneous.  


Joe recoiled violently, curled up in a ball and covered his head with his arms. He screamed something almost unintelligible. It sounded like he was begging.  


Patrick jerked back his hand, his eyes were wide.  


Andy and Pete scrambled away from Joe, both were wide awake and yet they still looked like they were in a haze. Like they had no idea where they were.  


Andy was the first to break out of the haze. He rushed to Joe's side and put his hands on his shoulders.  


"Joe? You're ok, now. Joe? Please, snap out of it."  


"Go away go away please stop! Go away go away." Joe screamed as he tried to fight the man off.  


"It's ok, it's ok," Andy kept repeating , interspersing it with the guitarist's name again and again. "It's ok."  


"Please please please," Slowly Joe's voice started to get quieter and his blows got weaker, until he stopped begging and fighting altogether.  


"It's ok, it's ok." Andy kept saying the phrase, like a broken record. More to comfort himself than to comfort Joe at this point.  


Pete still stared into space, he barely acknowledged the scene in front of him. His eyes looked haunted.  


Patrick almost felt physical pain seeing people so close to him in so much pain.  


They were all covered in dirt, blood, bruises, and cuts.  


Joe's hair was matted and sticking in clumps on his face. He had a grimy, bloodstained sheet wrapped around his upper thigh. Andy's eyes were still glazed over from the drugs he was forced to take. A large blood stain was growing on his shirt.  


Pete was, mentally, worse than the both of them. He came out of his fog and slowly dragged himself to the group. Blood was stained on his face and etched into his hands.  


Patrick wanted to stop the car right there. He wanted to make the driver slam on the breaks so that he can climb into the back with them. So that he can be there for them.  


But he knew that that couldn't happen. They couldn't afford it, _he_ couldn't afford it.  


They all lost so much blood, suffered so many injuries. If they stopped now they might run out of time.  


Something deep in Patricks gut started to ache. He felt the crude stitching on his abdomen strain and he knew that he couldn't hold himself out the window any longer.  


Slowly, reluctantly, he slid himself back into the truck. He leant his head back into the seat and squeezed his eyes shut.  


Patrick could hear the sobs coming from the back through the open window. He didn't move to roll it up, to do so would be ignoring it. Would be ignoring the pain of people he's known for 12 years.  


So he sung, quietly. It was what he did, it was what always made him feel better.  


Through chapped lips the words fell, "If heaven's grief brings hell's rain, then I'll trade all my tomorrow's for just one yesterday..."  


Patrick never thought he was the best singer to begin with, but his voice sounded worse than ever. It was rough and it cracked in ways it never had.  


He thought it was very fitting.  


"Are you okay?" The driver asked for the second time.  


Patrick couldn't bring himself to laugh again. "I... All things considered, I'm fine. I should've been dead a long time ago. But I still..." He struggled to find the right words to say. "I still feel like shit. Not for myself, for them. They didn't deserve any of this."  


"And you think you did?"  


"I am the one who found that stupid briefcase. I got myself captured. I drug them into this mess." He knew that was only partially true. The other members, Pete especially, jumped at the opportunity to get back together. It was Pete's idea to save rock and roll. But he was still the person who found the relic that caused this shitstorm.  


"You want to take all the blame." The woman stated.  


"Is that bad?"  


"Not particularly. But that's going to eat you up inside. It'll get you killed one day, whether emotionally or physically."  


Patrick let that sink into his head, until they drove into the driveway of a hospital.  


"We're here..." The woman said, smiling a bit too wide.  


Patrick looked at the old building, it was very obviously abandoned. He turned to the woman. "What's going–"  


He froze.  


The woman was smiling maliciously. Her eyes were pitch black.  


Patrick scrambled to open the car door, before the woman turned a knob on the radio.  


The Sound couldn't even be described as music. It was too pulsating, too tonal. High pitched whirs broke through and Patrick stopped his efforts to cover his ears, cutting the side of his face in the process. The Sound burrowed itself into his head and Patrick screamed.  


The woman looked on, her smile smug.  


Patrick dug his remaining fingers into his right ear, the hook was useless in blocking the noise. He shuddered deeply, feeling the Sound wash over his brain.  


He looked into the woman's black eyes, his own widened in a desperate, animalistic fear.  


"Too bad you're so trusting," She crooned. "Well, it's good for me." She turned the knob up louder. "Now, why don't you do me a favor and get rid of those annoyances in the back?"  


Patrick screamed as the Sound rushed into him again. Blood seeped down the side of his face.  


All he saw was black.  


And then.  


Everything was tinted yellow.  


And it all went to hell.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Maybe I'll actually continue it.


End file.
